


we’re safe now.

by oblivoid



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner RPF, The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Multi, jamesdashner - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 10:27:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17405216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oblivoid/pseuds/oblivoid
Summary: “I’m here for you, and I’ll always be here for you.”Those words echoed through Thomas’ heart, his soul, and pierced the dull shield that he’d put up, just in case he’d lost anyone again. He couldn’t, and he wouldn’t. As Thomas smiled back at Newt’s glowing features, a soft, tentative hand touching his best friend’s arm, he felt as if he were home again. He took in the sight of the sun wrapping around Newt like a golden aura, and finally, he clasped onto Newt’s body, the bond between them twisting itself into a ribbon as Thomas felt happy, and peaceful again.





	we’re safe now.

"Newt?" Thomas looked at his best friend, who dragged himself upwards, his hands hanging limply by his sides. Thomas prayed that when the boy turned around, his eyes didn't hold the insanity that took place once a Crank moved past the Gone.

 But Newt did. As Newt turned around slowly, the blood crusting his lips black and leaking down his chin, something in Thomas' heart twisted and it felt like his chest was being cleaved into two. He didn't bother to wipe away the tear that escaped from his eye, burrowing a path through the dirt and blood that accumulated on his cheeks.

"It's me, Newt. We're safe now. Minho's safe. Let's go to the Safe Haven with Vince," Thomas pleaded. He so desperately wished Newt would talk, and not stare at him with those hunger-filled, diabolical eyes. It wasn't Newt. It wasn't any of him. Any of them. He moved. Just a step, and Newt growled.

A animalistic snarl ripping from his throat, Newt lunged towards Thomas, and Thomas gasped. _Please_ _Newt_ , _please_ , he thought as he deflected attack after attack from his best friend. Memories assaulted him harder than the pain did, and images trickled into his mind steadily of him and Newt. 

Days of laughing, coming back from the Maze to share his progress with smiley-faced Newt, and every single second with him now seemed like an hour, and Thomas was determined to hold Newt off to the very last second, even if it meant losing his own life in the process.

He owed Newt that much, and even though Thomas wanted to scream into Newt's face until his friend remembered all of them, when Newt tackled him to the ground, his back shrieking in agony, Thomas only said, "Newt. It's me. Thomas. Remember? Tommy?"

 Newt shuddered, and whispered, his eyes clearing up just the slightest bit, like an opaque window turning only slightly fogged. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry Tommy."

Newt's breathing was ragged, and Thomas might've thought he fought it, and he was back, at least for a while, until Newt's fingers found the gun that was in Thomas' pocket which straddled there, and pulled it out. His eyes were full of regret and grief, and he put the gun to his head.

Thomas couldn't see anything, beyond the dread that crept into his vision as clear as the murky depths of his pain. He shouted, "No!"

 He reached up as much as he could for the gun, and only reached his hand. Panic was shutting down so much of his body. He couldn't do it. He couldn't bear the loss of another friend, let alone one that had been there for him since the very start. He slammed his arm into Newt's hand, and the gun fell away, sliding away.

 Thomas didn't even have the time to heave a sigh of relief before Newt let out another keening, angry cry, and his eyes shifted into the bloodlust he had seen in many Cranks, and grabbed a machete, forcing it down into Thomas' chest.

Thomas grabbed onto Newt's hands, and tried his hardest to force Newt's hands away, but the boy was just too strong. He first felt the cold burn of the steel piercing his skin, then the burning, raging inferno that followed afterwards. He let out a pain-filled gasp, and shoved Newt up and away before he scrambled away.

Newt lay there, panting, his hair slick with sweat and blood splattered everywhere. "Kill me, Tommy. Kill me!"

Newt seemed to had forgotten about the knife as he ran for Thomas again, his sanity seeming to have disappeared in the same bursts of energy he used to talk to Thomas. Thomas couldn't believe how much Newt was fighting against the Flare, and if he could've he would have hugged his friend.

Footsteps slammed onto the ground behind Thomas, and hope sparked in his chest. He turned to find Brenda racing towards him, determination in her eyes. Thomas saw something in her hands. It was the serum. He began to flat-out sprint for her, ignoring the fact that Newt was probably also chasing after him.

Newt could be cured. At least temporarily, if it didn't work. He grabbed onto the cure with blood-sticky fingers, and shot a look of gratitude at Brenda before slamming himself into Newt. He could sense Brenda hesitate, before following along carefully.

Newt struggled underneath him, shrieks of agony and rage spilling from his lips. Thomas held him down, and injected the serum into the arm where his friend first showed him his infection.

Please work. Please. Thomas peered down at the boy, who started gasping for air.

 

Seconds turned into minutes, and Thomas held his breath, the world seeming to stop around him. And then Newt began thrashing on the floor, letting out ear-piercing screams. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and for a sickening moment, Thomas thought he'd caused Newt to die. Panic surged in his stomach, and bile rose to his throat when he saw the amount of suffering Newt was in. Thomas was horrified at the amount of pain the serum gave his friend, and it pulled on his heartstrings to see such a resilient boy shout in agony at the one thing that could cure him.

 He heard more footsteps behind him, and barely registered the arrival of Minho and Gally as they stood beside him. His ears ringing, he said, "Hold him down, please!" They rushed forward, and Minho pinned down his arms, Gally gently pushing down on his legs.

 Still, Newt convulsed on the floor, and sweat beaded on his forehead that leaked down. Thomas wished that he was the one going through so much pain. The second person he'd remembered meeting, the grinning, sarcastic boy, now succumbing to pains of new levels that Thomas couldn't even imagine.

 They stayed like that for a few minutes, Gally's eyebrows creased in worry and Minho's mouth pressed into a thin line, his eyes wide with concern. Slowly, though, the charcoal-black veins on Newt's neck and arms began to ebb away, replaced with normal looking skin, if not slightly pale, and the darkness in his eyes receded, along with the red veins that were stark in them. Newt's golden-brown eyes were back. Thomas could see, in the bright lights that were shining from behind them that Newt's skin was back to its usual colour, even though his face was still a death-like pallor.

 "Newt?" Thomas whispered, and he felt Brenda hovering behind him, like a solid presence in the midst of the chaos that was happening, and he was thankful for the girl for staying there.

 A groan escaped from Newt's lips, and Gally and Minho instantly released the boy, offering him an arm to pull the boy up. A wave of relief washed through Thomas, soothing the panic and bile that had been there before, washing it away like nothing had ever been there other than plain happiness.

 Newt staggered to his feet, and as he met Thomas's gaze, Thomas' knees almost buckled at how normal the boy looked.

 "My head feels like I bloody rammed it into a train," Newt muttered, and a smile grew on Thomas' lips despite the situation. Apparently, it seemed like Gally and Minho has the same feelings, as they all grinned and pulled Newt into a hug.

 "Alright now, let's go to the Berg, shall we?" Brenda said from behind them. Thomas turned his head to see Brenda standing there awkwardly, shifting her feet around on the floor where Newt's blood was spilt all over. It was almost comical, and he suddenly felt the delirious need to laugh. Maybe he wasn't as immune as he thought. Thomas' thoughts were spinning out of control, but a gaze back at Newt pulled himself back together. He could do this. He would bring them back to the Berg.

 Newt began a slow walk, lurching forward step by step, his limp worsened by the intense fight they had before. Gally and Minho looped their arms underneath Newt's, offering support for him, and Thomas' chest felt oddly warm and light when he sighted it.

 Then, an intercom sounded, and Teresa's voice filtered through it.

 "Thomas. I don't know if you can hear me, but please trust me. If you got the cure to Newt, or if he's dead, which I'm so sorry for," Her voice cracked. And he saw Newt stopping, looking back at him. Thomas knew something horrendous was about to be revealed as Teresa continued. "But if you got the cure to him, it's not permanent. It only delays it. But your blood, Thomas? Your blood can stop it forever. Destroy it. Please, come back and we can make a cure. Please.

 "There's a reason why Brenda isn't sick anymore. Your blood cured her, Tom. Your blood destroyed the Flare. Please come back. Newt needs you. I need you," And the intercom crackled with sound for a brief moment, and ended.

 As Thomas looked behind him, to Newt, Gally, Minho and Brenda, his friend rolled his eyes, and patted Thomas. "It's alright, Tommy. I'll come with you."

 But Thomas shook his head. As much as it pained him to not hug the boy and cling onto his friend forever, he knew that Newt would become a Crank again if he didn't get the cure from Teresa. And he didn't want to put Newt in risk again. Not after they'd just saved him.

 Not after how he was then. So he looked into Newt's golden-brown eyes, lit up by the lights to make them look like pools of honey, and said, "I can't. I have to do this alone. I'm sorry, Newt. I'm sorry," He repeated over and over again as he backed away, every step shooting spikes of pain into his heart.

 As he turned and shifted his pace into a jog, he felt Newt's necklace in his pocket, and heard his friend exclaim, "Tommy!"

 But he didn't look back. He trusted Gally and Minho, along with Brenda, to get Newt safely back to the Berg. They had to.

 

Thomas leapt past the flaming debris on the ground, swiftly avoiding the warring people and officials. Bullets flew through the air around him, and heat singed his face as he caught a glimpse of flames licking down the side of a building. Probably from a bomb that someone had lobbed without much aim.

Ignoring the booms that were reverberating around him, he made his way to the tall building. He had to be fast. He didn't know how much time Newt had left, and he wasn't going to risk it. His friend's sanity depended on the seconds ticking by.

If Thomas wasn't panicked before, he sure was then. Anxiety rushed into his chest with every rasping breath he took, along with the smoke that scorched his lungs.

Soon, though, he made it into the giant building that Newt, Minho and he had escaped out of just a mere hour ago. It surprised Thomas at how quiet the place seemed, the shouting and crackling of flames feeling muffled to his ears. Then, he heard crisp footfalls behind him. He turned to see the time-aged face of the person his hatred for rivaled with Janson—Ava Paige.

 Ava looked towards him with a sort of sorrow in her eyes, and Thomas glared back, anger threatening to swallow him up whole. Teresa betrayed me were his first thoughts. "Don't go, Thomas. You—"

 The first thing Thomas noticed was the red, leaking through her immaculately clean, white coat. Staining it. And then he realised that the ringing in his ears was because of a gunshot as Ava fell to the ground, her eyes still wide open in shock, and revealed Janson a few feet behind her.

 Thomas saw that Janson was holding a gun, and took another moment to realise that he killed Ava Paige. Malice shone clear in Janson's eyes as he cocked the gun at Thomas, taking step after step at him. Thomas couldn't move. His feet wouldn't budge. They felt like they were made of concrete, weighed down to the ground with the heaviest of metals. The gun was so close to Thomas that for a second he thought the man was just going to shoot him in the head and be done with it.

 But Janson lunged forward, and too fast for Thomas to detect through his hazy panic and the smoke slowly seeping into the building, courtesy of the bombs, put something in his neck, and only when Janson smirked, his mouth curving into an evil grin, did he register it.

 Too late. His mind started fogging, and his vision blurred at the edges, darkness creeping in, as if to take over his mind and body. Thomas lost his footing, and stumbled backwards, half in shock and half in dizziness. His world was tilting to the side, and Thomas fumbled for the thing in his neck pulling it out.

 The heaviness in his body was so intense that he couldn't even feel the pain. Thomas looked at it through his eyes, about to shut, and barely recognised the tranquilizer that Janson had stuck into his neck. As he swayed and fell, the last thing he heard, his ears starting a new set of ringing, was Janson's words. They were probably loud, but with his head half into the murky darkness, it was a soft, muffled murmur.

 "You should have run.”

 

The darkness seemed to fade around the edges, and some sort of lightbulb's fluorescent light shone into Thomas' eyes as he opened them, his mind still a tad bit woozy.

 Still, he tried to sit up, and found his arms and legs strapped to what seemed to be a comfortable surgical table. He could peer around though. A survey of the room had him seeing Janson, and hatred filled him like ice-cold flames.

 He saw the brown hair first. Then the pearl-like skin as Teresa turned around, her blue eyes shining with regret when she saw that Thomas had awoken. Like she gave a damn about his life. It all seemed like another giant betrayal.

 He'd played into their plans again. WICKED's plans. Again and again, and this time seemed to be no exception as Teresa walked towards him, a syringe in hand like she was about to take his blood. Bitterness wrenched at his heart as Thomas glared at the scientist, yet it was half-hearted. He couldn't bring himself to hate her.

 "Listen here, Thomas. You do this, and we'll make your death swift. If you don't, well..." Janson merely conveyed his thoughts by putting his gun casually to Teresa's head. Her eyes widened just the slightest, and panic rose up in Thomas for the countless time that day again.

 Teresa inserted the syringe into Thomas without any objection from him. He was too scared to say a thing, and Janson put down his gun. The small prick of pain on his forearm and somehow, the sound of Janson smiling was the only noise in the room. Thomas didn't know how it was possible.

 "Smart lad."

 Maybe Thomas overthought it, but he swore that when his eyes met Teresa’s, she gave him a look that could convey the barest trust me.

 So he did. Thomas lay still, allowing Teresa to make the serum, Janson overseeing the whole procedure with a murderous look in his eyes that sent chills down his spine.

 Teresa finished, and as she put it in a syringe, handing it over to Janson, the Rat Man did the one thing Thomas never would have thought he would. He put the syringe against himself, and right before he pushed down, Thomas saw from the corner of his eye that Teresa grabbed a glass vase and slammed it down on his head. The glass splintered into dozens of pieces, and Janson lost consciousness, slumping to the floor.

 Teresa rushed over to Thomas, and he was still overridden with confusion, the fact that Janson was a Crank unable to settle in his mind. She began to unbuckle the straps, and after she finished with one of his hands, Thomas saw Janson's rage-filled, granite-hewn features appear behind her. He tried to shout, but he was too late.

 Like everything he did.

 Janson grabbed Teresa by her hair, and she thrashed against him. Thomas felt like his heart was going to jump out of his throat and fall onto the marble floors as he fumbled for the other straps, hastily unbuckling them with shaking fingers.

 Janson slammed Teresa around, and she managed to get enough space to throw the serum on the floor. Janson let out a frustrated shout, and jostled her around as he said, _"Give me the cure!"_

Thomas watched, the blood draining out his face as Teresa elbowed Janson in the face, and a crack sounded across the room. He bellowed in pain, falling to the floor, and Thomas saw it as the chance to leap off the table. He grabbed the cure, and Teresa appeared behind him, messy-haired and wide-eyed. He used his other hand to latch onto hers, and Thomas sped down the hallways, pulling Teresa with him. 

Footfalls echoed behind him, and he saw Janson behind him, one hand to his nose, currently spurting blood, and the other with a gun pointed shakily at them. Thomas threw Teresa to a side as the bullet hit home, the metal ripping into his gut like burning lava.

 Thomas inhaled a shuddering breath, by continued to stagger forward, and Teresa shouted in concern. Her sapphire eyes were panicked, and Thomas felt his grip on consciousness fraying apart at the ends. He pressed a hand to the blood trickling out unsteadily, staining the front of his shirt a dark maroon. They had to get back to Newt and the others soon. 

He could almost see Newt in his mind's eye, waiting for him outside the building. Because he knew the boy would risk it, even with the gunfire and shots flying around.

He barely caught his breath enough to rasp to Teresa, "Outside the building...we...need...to go."

His feet didn't find their footing, and he slipped and fell. He turned to see Janson catching up to them, before he saw from the corner of his eye, Teresa throwing a chair across the hallways, and she hefted him up from under his arms with a grunt. He tried to stand. Thomas really did. Before he fell again, Thomas mustered the energy to turn the corner. Almost there.

He could almost see the Berg, barely making out the dark outline of the aircraft through the pain that gripped onto his consciousness like a vice. The blood felt sticky and warm on his fingers, and Teresa's hand gripping onto his arm felt burning, as if his arm were cold. 

Thomas saw Janson behind him when he turned just the very slightest, and a bang sounded. Blood bloomed like a rose in front of Janson's smart jacket, and he looked in front again to see Gally's gun cocked at the man, now dead.

Thomas saw the barest outline of a blonde-haired figure running towards him, the odd accent jarring him slightly as Newt said, "Bloody hell, Tommy!" The words were muffled, like he covered his ears.

The pain seared through his gut again, and his eyelids felt too heavy to stay open. Consciousness was stolen from Thomas, just like WICKED stole his identity, his life, his friends, and darkness swept in like an old friend to claim him.

 

The first thing Thomas felt was the cool breeze that wrapped around his face. Cold of the living, not the dead. As he cracked open his eyelids, the searing light that met his bleary gaze enough to make him wince, he heard a loud crash in the corner of...well, there was no other word to describe it other than a hut. Made of straws, the door was just a curtain draped over the frames and pinned there. Slits of light entered from the cracks between the straw and wood reinforcements. Thomas sat there for a moment, just taking it all in.

He turned to see Newt, staring at him with wide-eyes from the corner of his little hut. As he and Newt both struggled to find words to say, the red creeping up his neck enough to make Thomas' words stumble, Newt scrambled upwards. He managed to make out, his throat raw from not using it for God-knew-how-long, "Newt-what...how?"

It must be a dream, Thomas thought. Disorientated images had flooded through his mind after he blacked out, but Thomas was certain that the boy standing infront of him, light spilling across his agape mouth, was nothing more than a figment of his imagination.  

Finally, the angel-like boy deigned to respond. Was he in heaven? Thomas doubted it. Newt said, "We're at the Safe Haven. The one Vince told us about?" Thomas watched, nodding dazedly as Newt strode over to the floral cloth rather clumsily and pulled it back, allowing the full force of what dream Safe Haven looked like.

Other huts that looked just liked the one Thomas had "awoke" in greeted him, spilling across the expanse of lush green fields. Small-looking figures were hunched over by plots of land, growing what seemed to be carrots, tomatoes, potatoes, and so much more. People sat by the edges of their conjoined huts and chatted, the sound flitting across. Thomas turned to see Aris and Sonya, perched by the edge of a long piece of wood, joined by other immunes and several whom Thomas recognised to be Group B Gladers. They were laughing, Aris flaunting some sort of gesture with his arms. Newt followed his gaze, Thomas' eyes straying towards the blond-haired Sonya. Somehow, the few days, weeks, or whatever in this place had brought back the fullness in everyone's formerly gaunt bodies, and the light back to their eyes.

Even as the thought sprung half-consciously into his mind, Thomas kicked himself. It was just a dream, he chanted over and over in his mind. Just a dream. Thomas turned back to Newt, the boy with no sign of charcoal-like glass veins lining his body, or the dark expression that came. It was the nature of dreams, Thomas supposed. To have everything in a utopian setting before it all disappeared when they truly opened their eyes. 

"So, what is this place?" Thomas asked. "Obviously, I'm dreaming, but I'd like to know more before I wake up and I'm surrounded by death again."

Newt stared at him, and Thomas saw his confusion, stark in his eyes. "Tommy? What do you mean? This isn't a dream."

"But I saw you die. Brenda was too late, and Teresa died, and we couldn't get the permanent cure to you in time," Thomas said. He couldn't feel the pain that had engulfed him. It was almost like his feelings had been nullified, and he stared back at Newt.

Newt shook his head. He grabbed Thomas by the arm, taking him by surprise, and pulled them both towards the back of the huts. He slumped against the edge of what Thomas assumed was Newt's hut, the boy doing the same. 

Suddenly, Newt turned towards Thomas. Thomas felt his heartbeat quicken. It was a dream. Just a dream. Newt breathed, "Look. I'm alive, alright? Teresa's there," Thomas turned his head in the direction of Newt's pointed finger, "And Minho and Gally are alive. You saved us, alright? _You saved us all."_

Thomas sighed. He didn't believe it. Before Thomas could so much as utter a word of disbelief in Newt's direction, the boy lunged towards him, and before he could even breathe, their lips met. It was lovely, and Thomas found Newt lovely and warm at all the right place. Almost half-consciously, his hands raised to grab Newt's brown hair. Unfortunately, there was only so many seconds a person could hold their breath. As they separated, Newt stared straight into his eyes.

“I’m here for you, and I’ll always be here for you.”

Those words echoed through Thomas’ heart, his soul, and pierced the dull shield that he’d put up, just in case he’d lost anyone again. He couldn’t, and he wouldn’t. As Thomas smiled back at Newt’s glowing features, a soft, tentative hand touching his best friend’s arm, he felt as if he were home again. He took in the sight of the sun wrapping around Newt like a golden aura, and finally, he clasped onto Newt’s body, the bond between them twisting itself into a ribbon as Thomas felt happy, and peaceful again.

"Do you believe me?" Newt asked, a smile lighting up his face.

"I believe you."


End file.
